


Mission Complete

by ProstheticLoVe



Series: For The Rest Of Our Lives [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x04, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, Filler scenes, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluffy Ending, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian just wanted to keep his husband out of trouble, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey wants to make sure Ian doesn't slide downward, Missing Scene, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Season/Series 11, the camo kiss, understanding character motivations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28958115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe
Summary: Mickey wants Ian to get off the couch. Ian wants to make sure his husband stays out of trouble. They both think they're helping the other one out. In reality, they just love each other.The missing 11x04 scenes to tie everything together and give us a better look into their motivations.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: For The Rest Of Our Lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123964
Comments: 10
Kudos: 170





	Mission Complete

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No one belongs to me! Any dialogue you may recognize belongs to JW.
> 
> Author’s Note: I know there are some scenes that were cut out or thought to be cut out, so I wanted to tie everything together with the missing scenes we didn’t get in the episode, but saw in the promo. (I have a lot to say about that, but nows not the time.) I wanted to dig deeper into Mickey's and Ian's motivations in this fic. I had the impression Mickey was doing everything he could to get Ian off the couch and he was worried about Ian sliding downwards and Ian wanted to make sure his husband wasn't being reckless and sent back to prison, so this was born. 
> 
> There's swearing in this, just a head's up. I hope you guys enjoy the fic!

_Money._

_Mickey._

_Prison._

_Money._

_Mickey._

_Prison._

_What they fuck were we going to do for money?_

_What if Mickey went back to prison?_

_What if I can’t find a job?_

Ian hadn’t been sleeping.

He wasn’t sure how anyone _could_ sleep when all of this shit kept floating around his head. Like garbage floating in the ocean; it wouldn’t just dissipate on it’s own. It needed to be _addressed_. 

Since quitting his job - he liked to think of it as _quitting_ not being _fired_ \- he wasn’t sure what came next for him.

What were _they_ going to do now?

Mickey kept saying he’d deal with it. He kept saying everything would be fine. That Ian needed to chill out. He seemed to think this security gig was going to be the answer to all of their issues. But Ian didn’t think Mickey was seeing things clearly. If Mickey was his usual self - who Ian loved, but sometimes didn’t make the best decisions - then he could easily land himself back in prison.

That was the last thing he wanted. And he knew to avoid that outcome, he needed to keep an eye on him. 

But then he had the warring issue of getting a job to bring in money so Mickey _wouldn’t_ lean into crime. 

How was he supposed to do both?

He hated that he seemed to be caught in this cycle of wondering if they’d have enough for basic human necessities while wanting to take care of his husband. He hated that he was struggling to take care of his husband. This shouldn’t be something that newlyweds dealt with. 

And he was tired of it.

Of all the things he couldn’t control.

Tired of worrying about Mickey going back to prison.

Tired of worrying about money.

Tired of having dreams.

Tired of working toward those dreams.

And tired of his life blowing up in his face because of this stupid disease.

He knew he was better than working at an Amazon warehouse. He was better than working at some shitty fast food restaurant. He was better than an endless day of digging graves. 

And yet those were his only options.

The realization that he had to claw his way back up to even _slightly_ where he was before kept him up at night. 

The idea of Mickey going back to prison made his stomach and heart _ache_ \- _what the fuck was he going to do without Mickey if he went back to prison?_

And not to mention the lack of money they were bringing in. Sure, Mickey had gotten them enough to float by and Ian’s last paycheck helped, but that wasn’t going to sustain them for more than two months, if that. 

Mostly what he kept perseverating on was the simple fact that he was a failure.

A fucking failure.

There was no way around it.

There was no sugar coating it.

His dream of being in the army ended before it even started.

All the hard work of being an EMT blew up - literally - in his face.

And now he couldn’t even keep a shitty minimum wage job where he lifted fucking boxes.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

His PO had been understanding about the situation and had suggested some other jobs, but honestly, the idea of going to work for a dead end job where he made minimum wage was about as appealing as eating one of Mickey’s dirty socks.

It had been a week since he’d quit his job and while things with Mickey had gotten a little easier even though they were both home now all the time, he could tell that things were beginning to shift.

The first clue was his hesitancy to take his pills.

It wasn’t like he stopped or anything.

But on more than one occasion he definitely held onto the pill bottle far too long before he opened it to pop the first of his three pills. 

One one occasion, he’d been startled out of staring off into space while holding his pill bottle when Mickey snorted in his sleep and brought him back to reality.

The second clue was how he hadn’t bothered to get dressed when he got out of bed. He’d noticed Mickey side eyeing him, but since neither of them were getting dressed, he hadn’t said anything.

Lastly, he wasn’t sleeping. Now that might be more from the fact he was anxious about, well, _everything_.

From Mickey having illegal guns in the house to not being able to pull in money for bills, there wasn’t anything he wasn’t anxious about. 

He was fucking stressed.

He didn’t understand how Mickey wasn’t worried about any of the same shit. Every time Ian brought up Mickey going back to prison, he either scoffed at him, laughed it off, or made a snarky comment about how ridiculous he was being. It was all the same to Ian, though, when the end result was that Mickey didn’t seem to care if they were separated again. 

Because Ian most definitely fucking cared if Mickey was taken from him.

That’s why he couldn’t fucking shake the ebb and flow of anxiety that flowed through him. That filled him up and threatened to spill over most days. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this anxious about something and it seemed that day after day it was getting worse.

He hadn’t even realized he had woken up until light filtered in through his window. Like every morning since quitting his job, he found himself staring up at the ceiling while Mickey slept beside him. His hand was firmly planted on his shoulder as if to reassure himself that he was still there. If it wasn’t Mickey’s hand on his shoulder or Ian’s limbs wrapped around him, it was their feet tangled together or Mickey nestled into his back. Touching one another helped to comfort themselves that the other one was still there - they still had each other.

 _This_ was still real.

He should probably start looking for a job today. But the idea of sifting through job boards made his stomach hurt. 

_Shit._

What was the point?

Why even bother when he was going to fail at that too?

Everything he’d found was soul-crushing.

It was minimum-wage bullshit he’d worked hard to escape from _twice_ now. Whatever next job he found would either be pointless or he’d find a way to fuck it up.

Ian sighed and Mickey shifted closer to him. 

Distantly, Ian heard the sound of a truck outside their window. He didn’t even have the energy to look out and see what was going on.

He should probably tell Mickey or at least go down to the clinic, but even thinking about that conversation seemed like such an uphill battle.

There was a loud bang outside and Mickey startled awake beside him.

* * *

“The fuck was that?” Mickey rasped. He rubbed his eyes and focused on Ian who was looking toward the window.

He wasn’t even pretending he had been sleeping.

_How long had he been up for?_

“Dunno.”

Mickey sat up and crawled toward the window. He sighed when he realized that this room didn’t face the front of the house. He glanced at Ian who had rolled over onto his side and curled up. Pulling the covers up to his shoulders, the action made Mickey’s stomach quiver in familiarity. 

For a moment, Mickey’s heart jumped up to his throat and a flash of a memory flickered through his mind.

Crawling over Ian, he quickly threw the blankets off of him and picked up the pills on the bedside table to toss them on the mattress beside his head. 

He raised his eyebrows at Ian in a silent reminder. 

His husband stared back at him for a long moment as if he had no clue what Mickey was silently asking him to do. But Mickey could tell that he understood. 

He was just being an asshole.

Wordlessly, Ian glared at him, but he slowly sat up and popped open the bottles. He downed the three pills with his half full bottle of gatorade by the bed. Mickey nudged his knee with his own when there was a second bang outside.

“Come on, Sleepy-face, Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Heavily, Ian followed after him and Mickey tried to push away the uneasiness that had been growing in his stomach for the past few days.

Ever since he’s come downstairs one morning to find Ian sitting on the couch eating off-brand cereal and drinking a beer. And that’s where he’d planted himself ever since.

But Mickey had a plan.

One he was intent on putting into motion today. (Thanks to Kev for finally having something for him to do.)

His goal was to make sure his husband didn’t continue to slip.

Ian wasn’t going to have a low episode.

Mickey wasn’t going to let him.

* * *

_There was something up with Ian._

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was either.

Or maybe Mickey could just _feel_ what was going on with him.

Like a sixth sense.

Mickey didn’t believe in that shit, not really, but there were certain times when he’d look at Ian and _know_ what was up. He knew Ian could say the same thing with him. That’s why they continuously got on each other’s nerves. 

At least that’s what Mickey figured. 

No one had gotten under his skin the way Ian Gallagher did. 

No one would; he was positive of that fact. 

So Mickey fucking _knew_ that Ian was slipping. 

He knew because of three things: he couldn’t remember the last time Ian smiled, he wasn’t his usual annoying nagging/driven self, and he wasn’t sleeping. 

(Mickey knew that last one as fact because Ian always slept wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. No amount of fighting would change that. But instead, Mickey was the one who reached out to him for comfort. And Mickey missed his cuddling time with his husband - not that he’d admit that gay ass shit.)

As long as Mickey had known him, he’d been the type to do everything 100%. Fucking overachiever. He wasn’t even trying to be the best, he just wanted to do _his_ best. Which, whatever, Mickey, _maybe_ found that pretty admirable and it might just be one of the _many_ things he loved about his husband. Whether it was work, school, fucking sex even, Ian threw all of his energy into it.

Which is why it was always easy to tell when he was slipping.

And after losing yet another job, he was fucking slipping.

Even before that, Mickey had been keeping a close eye on his husband since the pandemic started. In the beginning, Ian had a week - that felt like eternity - where he wasn’t smiling as much. Mickey had caught him staring despondently at the wall. He’d even woken up to him crying in the middle of the night. But after a call to his doctor (one of the many perks about being married), Mickey felt a little more relieved. She’d told Mickey it was most likely the pandemic. Everyone was feeling it. Mental health problems were skyrocketing right now. He needed to keep an eye on Ian - which he did - and within a few days once the initial weirdness and chaos dissipated, he was back to his usual self.

Until now.

Mickey wasn’t sure how everyone else could miss the signs, but then again these were the same people who let him get thrown into prison in the first place. So he really didn’t hold them in the highest regard when it came to looking out for Ian’s best interests.

Maybe Lip, but he had his own shit to deal with.

No, Ian was Mickey’s responsibility.

That’s what marriage meant to him.

_Thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit._

That’s what Mickey was signing on for, for the rest of their - _long_ \- lives together. 

But that didn’t mean Mickey had all the answers. He wasn’t really sure what to do about it. He was home too so he had the luxury of watching him, but as Ian sat in front of the TV eating sugary cereal - and popping open a beer or two - every day this week, the alarm bells in Mickey’s mind rang louder and louder.

Was Ian going to sit in front of the TV _again_ today?

_Not on my watch._

The alarm bells moved to code red when he came downstairs after watching his family move in next door to find Ian settling onto the couch with a new bowl of cereal. There were a few discarded beers in front of him, which Mickey tried to remember if they were new or old. Spotting the mostly full bottles, he realized with dread they were new.

Again.

Fourth time this week.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t _Ian_.

He needed to get him back out there, back to work.

_Step One..._

“How about you come work for me?” Mickey asked. He made sure to stand right in front of the television and get his attention after he barely spared him a glance when he entered the room and rested his hands on his shoulders . 

He hadn’t expected Ian to flat out tell him he wasn’t interested; he thought he’d give them a chance to work together.

Ian was the one that had said they were a good team.

(They’d proven this many times in the past.)

After trying to get Ian off the couch, which he did somewhat successfully (mostly by taking a page out of Ian’s book and nagging him in his own way), he trailed behind him toward the kitchen.

“Why don’t you want to work together?” Mickey asked.

Ian went for the fridge to grab a beer and Mickey snatched it out of his hand. 

Frowning, Ian shrugged and grabbed another one much to Mickey’s chagrin.

“Cause,” Ian said shortly.

Mickey grabbed Ian’s next beer out of his hand and placed them both back in the fridge.

“Come on, man, it won’t be so bad. We’re going to make thousands, maybe millions of dollars. This - _this_ is going to be fucking awesome.” Mickey placed himself in front of the fridge when it seemed like Ian was going to open the door again. “It’s a nice day. Maybe we can stop at that taco truck you like near the Alibi too? After we’re finished with the run and everything? You really wanna watch cartoons all day? _Again?_ ”

Ian rolled his eyes. He moved away from the fridge back to the living room where he grabbed his cereal and sat in his original position on the couch. At the sight, Mickey’s stomach tightened in anxiety. Sighing, he followed after him.

“Ian, you know your PO is going to start nagging--”

“If I take a shower, will that get you off my back?” Ian snapped finally.

Mickey smirked and nodded, “sure, man. You stink anyway.”

Ian scowled at him, but he took one last bite of cereal and headed upstairs. Mickey wasn’t sure if he should feel triumphant or not that he’d managed to get Ian in the shower at the very least. But he did have one more idea of how to get Ian to leave the house. Cleaning up after him, he had a quick bowl of cereal while fending off Frank’s terrible ideas and headed upstairs to wait for him to get out of the shower.

As he waited, for the first time since walking out onto the front porch to see Terry and the rest of his family with a truck, he allowed himself to ruminate on what exactly this meant for them. 

Frank wasn’t wrong, as much as Mickey didn’t want to admit it. If the rest of his family was moving into the house next door, then he and Ian were going to have to move. There was no way he was living next to Terry and his cousins. Thankfully, his brothers had all gotten out, but his cousins seemed to have multiplied over night. 

All of the comfort he associated with the Gallagher house was gone almost in the blink of an eye the moment his brain registered who was moving in next door. 

He might be playing down the fact his dad tried to kill him - several times - but the threat was still there. Who's to say he wouldn’t try again? And if they’re next door, they could keep better tabs on him and Ian. They could do a lot by living next door...

A brief visual of their home getting shot up by Terry and his dumbass cousins fluttered through Mickey’s head and he desperately pushed it away. 

Mickey would rather eat his own legs than let Terry anywhere near Ian. He wasn’t going to let either of them get hurt by fucking Terry and his shithead family members. He was going to keep his husband safe. That meant getting the fuck out of here.

Maybe take Liam with them too.

He had the right idea about moving.

For right now though, Mickey had more pressing matters to deal with. Like getting Ian out of the house and back to _Ian Gallagher_ again. He’d take one step at a time, just like all those dumbass articles said to do with bipolar. All he could do was deal with today and at least get a smile on his face. Even a slight curve upward would do. If he could get him to agree to work with him forever, then that would be even better. 

_Baby steps..._

His family moving in next door was just one more hurdle for them to overcome. Shit was already piling up for them, why not add something else?

Apparently, the money issues and Ian’s mental health weren’t enough.

He didn’t have time to deal with that right now. He needed to focus on Ian. Terry could wait. For a little while at least.

* * *

Ian wasn’t even sure why he was bothering to take a shower when he was just going to go back to sitting on the couch. 

But Mickey was right, he did smell.

Maybe the shower would snap him out of his funk. Whether it was his bipolar or a good ol’ fashion combination of anxiety/stress/sadness, Ian knew he needed to deal with it. 

Pulling open the accordion door of their bedroom, he almost started yelling at Mickey when he saw the gun in his hand.

_What the actual fuck?_

Was his husband really this thick?

Did he think this was a game?

Did he want to leave Ian _again_?

Why couldn’t Mickey get it through his thick fucking head that having a gun _plus_ being a convicted felon equaled prison time if he was caught?

It was pretty fucking simple and yet, Mickey couldn’t see it.

Why couldn’t he fucking understand that going to prison was the absolute last thing Ian wanted for him?

Was he doing this on purpose?

Or was he this fucking stupid?

Ian tried to keep his voice even when he asked him what the fuck he was thinking. He tried not to show how fucking angry he was at the idea of Mickey leaving him for _years_ because he was thrown back in prison. Over something as arbitrary as a security job. Why didn’t Mickey not realize how much danger he was putting himself - themselves in - if he were to get caught with a gun?

An unregistered gun.

Seriously.

_What the fuck?_

And the way that Mickey thought he was being so blasé about the whole thing. There was no way Ian couldn’t go with him after seeing how reckless Mickey was being. 

He wasn’t going to let Mickey go back to prison because he had no forethought. He was going to fight to keep him beside him and if that meant joining him on this endeavor into security, then so be it. 

(Somehow, he already knew before Mickey had brought it up today that he’d be doing it with him anyway. It was just the way Mickey looked at him this morning when he brought up doing security. The twinkle of knowing that Ian would be interested with just the right push.)

_He thought he was so slick, but I know what he’s doing._

“You get that having a gun is illegal right? Like can we just come to this agreement?” Ian snapped pulling on his boxers.

Mickey shrugged, “you’re so paranoid.”

“I’m not - Mick, what happens if you go to prison again? Think about that with that pea-size brain you fucking have,” Ian seethed.

Mickey made a noise of indignation, “I do not have a - _fuck you, Gallagher_. If this is how you’re going to treat your boss--”

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

“Whatever. I’m trying to make some money for us. You’re sitting on the couch watching fucking cartoons. Like I said, we could be making thousands possibly millions of dollars. How does that not excite you?”

Ian shoved on his t-shirt and yanked out a pair of jeans. “Are you fucking ready?”

Mickey frowned in confusion. “Ready for what?”

“To do this security shit.”

“What--”

“We have to make a stop first.”

Mickey opened his mouth and then closed it. Ian wanted to smirk at him, stick his tongue out, and say ‘see, I’ll do this for you’ but he was still feeling annoyed by how reckless Mickey was being. How he wasn’t seeing the big picture.

Honestly, what security person wore their own everyday clothes and carried an unregistered gun? What was Mickey thinking? He obviously needed Ian’s help. He was just begging to be robbed or arrested. And Ian didn’t want either of those things to happen. It was easier if he came along to make sure that Mickey looked the part and stayed out of trouble.

That’s what his job was as his husband.

To take care of him, even when he was making poor decisions. Without him, Ian knew Mickey would go off the rails on some poor unsuspecting--

“ _Fine_. You can come.”

“One of us has to make sure that you stay out of trouble,” Ian snapped. He grabbed a mask, his keys, wallet, and cell phone. All while glaring at Mickey. 

His husband raised his eyebrows and slowly put his gun down and tucked it back into his hiding spot.

“Don’t need a babysitter,” Mickey muttered.

Ian snorted and smirked when Mickey gave him the finger. 

He didn’t get why Mickey didn’t realize the danger of what he was doing. He didn’t get why he couldn’t see the big picture, but per usual, Ian could and that meant stepping in to make sure that his husband stayed on the right side of the law.

That’s what being a good husband meant.

* * *

“So...are we going to talk about your dad moving in?”

Mickey debated pretending not to hear him as they stood in line outside the army reserve store. Apparently, they hit capacity and needed to wait in line.

_Fucking corona lines._

“Mick?”

“What?”

“You hear what I said?”

Mickey worried his lip as he tried to come up with something to say.

Of course, he was fucking worried about his father and cousins moving in.

Of course, they needed to talk about it.

But Mickey was primarily focused on Ian right now and what he needed at the moment. So he wasn’t sure how to tell his husband he was worried, but they could put it off because Ian came first. Ian’s health was first and foremost. The Terry stuff...yeah it was bad, but it wasn’t _that_ bad. _Yet_. 

“Frank’s trying to put together some - trying to start a war or some shit.”

Ian snorted, “heard him asking Carl about it before he left for work this morning. Do you - do you wanna talk about it?”

Mickey scoffed and eyed the person counting the amount of people entering the store.

“What’s there to talk about? They’re moving in. Your family is all annoyed about it.”

“Yeah, _I’m_ annoyed about it,” Ian said haughtily.

“Well, me too. But we have money to make, so let’s just tackle one fucked up situation at a time.”

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but just then a large group of people left and they were waved into the store.

The conversation ended for now, but the way Ian kept casting looks at him, Mickey knew they’d be talking about this again. To distract his husband, he pulled him over to a new section of knives and began to ask him questions about them knowing from long ago how much Ian liked this shit.

Mickey didn’t pay attention to the answers, but he did notice the growing warmth in his voice and the passion returning to his eyes as they wandered around trying to find items for their (yeah, _their_. Mickey knew what Ian was doing) new security gig.

Picking up every item in the discount army store that looked interesting to him, he made sure to focus on what the good parts of doing security for Kev and V would do for them. He also continuously pointed out how fucking _awesome_ it would be, how it was all legal, and how they got to make their own hours.

“You hate other people making your schedule. Now we get to decide everything for ourselves. No more listening to other people,” Mickey rambled as he picked up a fake grenade and inspected it. “These are supposed to be heavier,” he added.

Ian snatched the grenade out of his hand and tossed it back into the basket. “We’re not here for that.”

“Then what the fuck are we here for?”

“To make sure that you’re careful.”

“That _I’m_ careful? Are you still pretending like you’re not interested in working for yourself and doing security? Not fucking interested in making thousands or maybe millions of fucking dollars? We make a good team, man, why do you have to pretend we don’t?”

“That’s not - I’m not - _fuck_ , I told you what I think of this,” Ian stuttered out.

Mickey rolled his eyes and continued moving down the aisles to check out what else he could use for his new job.

“You know, I hate dealing with people and shit. You could - I don’t know - deal with the customers and I could stand in the background looking all tough and shit. Silent, but deadly.”

Ian snorted, but Mickey heard the laughter in his voice.

“You staying silent? That’s like Carl giving up his career as a cop and deciding to join a ballet company.”

“Hey! You don’t think I can be all silent and intimidating?”

“Intimidating, yes. Silent, no. Come on, Mick, this way,” Ian said nodding toward another aisle.

“I’m just saying. You like dealing with people. Besides, you could use your EMT shit if anything goes south. Plus, you did ROTC for years,” Mickey continued to needle. 

Ian was walking in front of him, but by the tense motion of his shoulders, Mickey knew that what he said intrigued him.

“You were obsessed with this type of shit. All I’m saying is that I like security and you have all the knowledge. It would - I don’t know, make sense for us to take advantage of all of these awesome skills we have together. We could make this work. It’s legal, which you want and it’s fun, which I want.”

Ian stopped in front of a display of knives and a crossbow and looked at Mickey with a look that clearly made it seem like he should understand what he was showing him. It was just more weapons...did Ian want him to use them? 

“So you want me to deal with all the things you hate doing while you get to be silent and threatening and boss me around?” Ian asked rhetorically.

Mickey shrugged and turned to pick up a knife. “You want me to replace my gun with this shit?”

Ian huffed and began to berate him as if he were a five year old. Mickey wasn’t paying much attention to what Ian was saying though. He wasn’t here cause he wanted to be. He was here because he enjoyed the way Ian looked surrounded by things he liked. He seriously would’ve been fine with a gun and his day clothes, but if he was going to get Ian on board, he had to play the long game.

That little excited glee he’d noticed when they walked in, buzzed around Ian, making his eyes extra green. As they journeyed toward the piece de resistance - that turned out to be an army outfit - Mickey noticed how he practically hummed with anticipation when he looked at him for his reaction. For his acknowledgement. 

And yeah, upon seeing it Mickey did think it was pretty badass. However, he had one last push before Ian gave in.

“Not wearing that unless you wear it with me.”

He began to walk away while counting down in his head until Ian called him back. Right as he reached one, he heard, “Mick!”

And that’s when he knew he got Ian hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

Ian wanted to pat himself on the back. It wasn’t a bad way to spend the day. He’d kept Mickey out of trouble. He’d avoided Mickey taking down Kev for his own...Kevin-ness. He’d even talked him into _being careful._

It was a success so far.

Replaying the day in his mind as they headed back from the grow house, he knew that he needed to tell Mickey that what they were doing was a good idea. (And he was fully in. He always knew he was going to be fully in. How else would he keep his husband in line and out of trouble?)

It had started out with the Milkovichs moving in - they still had to discuss that - and ended with them possibly pulling in more money then either of them thought they’d ever seen in their lives.

_Fucking weird day._

But as he glanced at Mickey out of the corner of his eye, he was a little in awe that it had all come together. He had his reservations about Mickey getting into the security game, but so far it was working.

Maybe they could do this.

“So?” Mickey asked as they neared their house.

“So what?”

“So aren’t you going to say ‘good job, Mickey?’” 

Ian turned to look at him half-amazed and unsurprised that Mickey could read him so easily. Ian cleared his throat and smirked when Mickey gave him an annoyed look.

“It was a good idea, Mick. I didn’t - I wasn’t sure how it would pan out, but you’ve - you’ve done well,” Ian suddenly grinned and shoulder bumped him. “You’re doing really fucking well. I’m proud of you.”

Mickey ducked his head, but Ian could see the rosiness coloring his cheeks. He heard him mumble something, but they had just reached the Milkovich house and Mickey’s relatives began to yell slurs at them in drunken voices. Ian and Mickey flipped them off as they walked past the house and then hurried inside.

Carefully, Ian toed off his shoes in the entryway and took off his first layer and his hat. Mickey tossed his clothes and shoes carelessly. Ian glared at him as he followed after him and picked up the clothes and the hat. He hurried upstairs and set them carefully in their room and then headed back downstairs to find Mickey pulling out two beers for them. He grinned at him and a warmth spread through his body when Mickey gave him a bashful look in return.

* * *

Mickey knew that he owed a thanks to his husband. It was only fair when Ian had told him he’d done a good job. That he was _proud_. No matter how many times Ian complimented him, it always made him feel mushy-gushy and all that gay ass shit he’d never verbalize. It made him feel good hearing that.

In reality, if Ian hadn’t been there, Mickey doubted he would’ve been half as successful as he ended up being.

Not that he’d tell Ian that.

First, he wouldn’t have worn this badass outfit and the grow house wouldn’t have asked them to come on as another security transporter. Second, he probably would’ve flipped out on Kevin and not even gotten to the grow house. Third, he just liked working with Ian. It made everything a little brighter, a little better, a little more plainless.

He was adult enough to recognize that.

So he hoped that the beer he handed him was enough of a gesture that Ian would cotton 

on to his gratitude. Ian took the offered beer without comment and his eyes were downcast as he focused on opening it. Mickey sighed, cleared his throat, and dove in. 

“Hey man, thanks for - thanks for coming with me. Coming up with the army shit - that was - that was good thinking.”

Ian preened.

The contentment radiating from him caused the fears Mickey wasn’t able to shake all day to finally dissipate a little. He’d gotten Ian to smile _and_ become involved in the security gig. He’d count it as a success.

“Wasn’t so fucking lame, was it?”

Mickey shrugged in response and tried to tamper down the smile threatening to come to his lips.

“Come on, you can admit it wasn’t a bad idea,” Ian coaxed.

Mickey huffed and twisted off the cap of the beer. “Whatever, man.”

“Mick--”

“Already said, thanks, didn’t I?”

Ian raised an eyebrow at him and after a minute, took a long sip of beer.

Mickey nibbled on his bottom lip and stood up a little straighter, his next question was important and he wanted to make sure that Ian didn’t blow him off like he had every other time he’d asked. He didn’t want to make it obvious how much he wanted Ian to join, but he also wanted to make sure that he knew he was needed. In the most casual voice he could muster, he asked, “So are you in?”

Ian opened his mouth, but Mickey couldn’t help but cut him off just in case he was going to try to talk himself out of it. Again. Mickey was tired of seeing Ian sulk around here like he had no purpose. The security thing was supposed to be good for _both_ of them. And by the little smile that was on Ian’s lips right then, he hoped that it was a permanent fixture and a positive sign of things to come.

“You know the army side of shit. How am I supposed to keep looking good and knowing shit about the army if you’re not with me? What if someone asks me about my time in the Middle East? And who's going to deal with all the shitheads we’ll probably have to meet? You’re better with people.” Mickey played with the bottle cap in his hand and tried not to look at Ian’s face so he didn’t know how nervous he was to hear his response.

“What names are you thinking about?” Ian asked, ignoring everything Mickey had just said.

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief and bit the corner of his lip to keep from smiling. 

“I don’t know. Hadn’t thought that far.”

“What about Milkovich and Gallagher Security?”

“That’s fucking long.”

“What if we shortened it? Gallavich security?”

Mickey made a face, “that’s fucking stupid.”

Ian tossed him an annoyed look and Mickey sipped his beer as he turned the name over in his head. 

“What are your ideas?”

Mickey shrugged, “I don’t know. Can’t I just be the brawn?”

“And I’ll be the brains?” Ian teased.

Mickey flipped him off, but Ian grinned wider and that familiar twinkle in his eyes finally returned. And the expression looked so good on Ian’s face, Mickey couldn’t help but kiss him just then. 

Mickey set his beer on the counter. Closing the distance between them, Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, sensing what he wanted. Mickey softened as he felt the familiar weight of his husband wrapped around him. Ian’s eyes rested on his face and Mickey leaned in for a kiss, unable to hold back anymore.

“So you’re in?” Mickey asked just to make sure.

Ian smiled affectionately and shuffled closer for another kiss. Mickey melted into him and the worry he’d been carrying around all day about Ian sliding backward finally dissipated. They were back on even ground.

“Yeah...I guess. A grand a day...we’ll be able to do anything with that money…” Ian murmured when he pulled back.

Mickey grinned wolfishly at him. “We can buy you a bath of that strawberry lube you like.”

Ian leaned in for another dizzying kiss and Mickey was glad he wasn’t holding his beer, so he could wrap his arms around his waist.

“We can get our own place,” Ian murmured once he pulled away.

Mickey looked shyly at him, “Yeah that too. And a new bed.”

Ian frowned, “but not too big.”

Mickey felt that hot sticky feeling in his belly at how Ian didn’t want to sleep far away from him either. He liked cuddling with him as much as Mickey liked it. He pressed a heated kiss to his lips and he wished Ian would cup the back of his head the way he always loved, but he was still holding that fucking beer.

“Come on, Mr. Gallagher, I think we need to discuss my compensation and benefits for this job,” Ian said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Mickey grinned and tightened his hold on his waist. “Think you gotta do a little something for me before we discuss shit like that, Mr. Milkovich.”

Ian pulled away slightly and leered at Mickey. “I’m a happily married man, but if the boss needs me to show my commitment to the gig, I guess I can be persuaded.”

Mickey snorted, “you’re such a nerd, Gallagher.”

Ian began to laugh, but Mickey swallowed the sound with a heady kiss. Hurriedly, Ian put his beer on the counter before Mickey pushed him toward the stairs. As they stumbled up the steps, distracted by hot open-mouthed kisses and wandering hands, Mickey metaphorically patted himself on the back for a successful plan. 

Mission Get Ian Off The Couch Was Complete.

Now, the next phase was figuring out how to run a security business and save their money to escape their new neighbors.

But that could come tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo or a comment if you'd like! 
> 
> Update for future fics: still working on the long story. Besides one shots and season 11 fix its, I have nothing else.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


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